


Have You Ever Been in Love?

by diindjariin



Series: Untitled Mando Series [4]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, F/M, Female Reader, Fluff and Angst, Slow Burn, and then ends post episode 6, give him all the soft things, i should have been tagging that forever ago LOL, it switches between pov of past and present (present being episode 6), then take them away because i'm fucking terrible, this partially takes place during episode 6
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-21
Updated: 2020-01-21
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:21:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22342510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/diindjariin/pseuds/diindjariin
Summary: “I like who you are now,” you say, hoping this will ease his pain, if only a little bit. The tilt of his head lets you know he’s smiling.“And you?” he asks, “Have you ever been in love?”“Oh yes,” you reply, breathless, and whisper for you in your head so many times you hope he can hear you.
Relationships: The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/Reader, The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/You
Series: Untitled Mando Series [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1600699
Comments: 22
Kudos: 211





	Have You Ever Been in Love?

“We need money.”

You’re sat cross-legged on Mando’s cot sewing up a hole in one of his undershirts. Normally you wouldn’t bother, because he insists it isn’t necessary, but it’s your favorite; the brown one that’s a bit too small and shows off the muscles in his arms. You look up at him briefly and then return to your sewing, answering him without looking.

“Okay. What’s the plan?”

“I’m going to get in contact with my old partner.” Your whole body stops and the only movement comes from your eyes, which slowly inch their way up his body and rest on the T of his visor.

“Mando –“ you don’t know what else to say. He’s told you about his past, bits and pieces at least, but enough for you to know that anyone he used to be in contact with were not people he should associate with again. He’s proud of himself for leaving that part of his life behind, has told you as much, but now here he is, going back.

“This isn’t up for negotiation,” he doesn’t sound angry, but he sounds sure. “I just want to discuss what to do with you and the kid.”

So, you do. You don’t want him to be alone, but you also have your limits. You have no desire to be involved in anything criminal, you tell him, which prompts him to remind you of the child and that protecting him counts as criminal involvement.

“You could drop us off on Sorgan,” you say casually, stroking the Child’s ears idly. “I’m sure Cara wouldn’t mind the company.”

“I don’t like the idea of the two of you out of my orbit,” he responds. Your breath catches in your throat but he doesn’t seem to parse the deeper meaning of his words. “If you both just stay on this ship you’ll be fine. You’ll never even have to see them. Ok?”

“It seems like you’ve already made up your mind,” you say, turning slightly so you’re no longer facing him and go back to your needlework. The Child seems to sense the shift in your mood and whimpers, burrowing into your lap. Mando sighs and rests his hands on his hips.

“Are you mad at me?”

“Yes,” you respond, “a bit. Why do you ask for my opinion if you’re just going to do what you want anyway?” Mando groans, long and deep, and tilts his head in an attempt to get you to look at him.

“Hey,” he says, but you don’t turn. He repeats himself, leans more into your field of vision. “Hey – look at me.” You do, albeit cautiously. “I care. What you think. But I’m the bounty hunter. I’m gonna do what I think is safest. But I still care how you feel about it.” Now it’s your turn to sigh, nod your head once. Your eyes fall shut and you rub at the space between your eyes.

“I know…” you let your voice trail off as you desperately push against the beginning of a migraine. “I’m sorry for insinuating otherwise.” He nods his head, then turns on his heel and makes his way to the cockpit. You allow your upper body to fall backwards on his cot, legs still crossed, the slight bounce sending the child a few inches into the air. He falls back between your legs and giggles, crawls up your body so he’s snuggled under your chin. You close your eyes and sigh, wondering how the hell you’re supposed to be okay with this. You throw your arm over your eyes and push the thoughts from your mind.

“Why can’t you remove your helmet?”

Mando is indulging you. He knows how much you love the stars, the sounds of nature. There’s nothing pressing to attend to and so you park on a mostly uninhabited planet, open the hatch, and watch the stars. Not speaking but enjoying the other’s presence, nonetheless. Mando’s manspreading, something you tease him for mercilessly but love when he does it. It means he’s comfortable. He’s got his legs spread wide, leant back on his elbows. He turns his head as if to look at you out of his peripheral vision. Then he goes back to looking at the stars.

“It’s… my religion,” he says. You think he’s going to stop here but, to your amazement, he speaks the most he ever has to you in one breath. “It wasn’t always this way, I’ve heard. But my people were hunted, had to go into hiding. It… made sense not to remove our helmets. For safety. And then it became about something else.” He pauses for a moment, searching for words, then continues. “It bothered me at first. But I got used to it, after a while. Sacrifices are necessary in life.”

“Yes, but –“ you say, then stop yourself, not wanting to offend him. The Mandalorian tilts his head and turns toward you, his equivalent of an eyebrow quirk. “Your life shouldn’t be sacrificed.” He doesn’t have a response for that, but he does shift that much closer, enough that the length of your arms tough. You think he might agree.

“One more time,” he says, “what’s the story?”

“If someone gets in, I’m your slave,” you barely get the words out, cringing at the thought of being owned by someone. “I don’t like saying that. You’d never do that.” Mando’s head ticks up quick and he looks like he wants to say something to that but changes his mind.

“It’s the only thing that will make sense to these assholes without giving away that we have the kid. Okay? But you shouldn’t have to worry about anyone.” His fingers trace your cheekbone. He likes the way the leather looks against your skin. Then he’s turning, making his way over to the hatch. “Stay away from the hatch,” he says before lifting it, “and don’t make any noise.” Then he raises the door, shuts it behind him, and is gone.

“Have you ever been kissed?”

This is going to become a thing between the two of you, you know. Nights spent on barren planets, swapping secrets. It’s easier to get him to open up first, so that he has a reference point for how personal he can get with you.

“No,” he responds. He stares at his feet instead of up at the sky, which just won’t do. You sit up on your knees and pitch yourself forward, grabbing his hands in yours.

“Someday, then,” you say softly, big eyes staring up at him like you can see him. He doesn’t respond, but he does cup your cheek in his hand, bare thumb brushing over your bottom lip.

“And you?” It takes a solid minute for you to figure out his meaning. When you do you smile, shyly, genuinely.

“Oh yes,” you say softly, pressing a kiss into the pad of his thumb.

“Who was your first?”

“A boy named Dane,” you say, recalling the memory, “I was 15. He was nice,” you chuckle to yourself and add, “he wasn’t a very good kisser, but neither was I, I suppose.”

“And now?” he asks. He’s never prodded you this much and you’re reveling in it, leaning deep into his space. He’s dressed down to a shirt and trouser pants, bereft of armor except his helmet. He looks soft like this, pliable. You could sit in his lap and feel him, if you wanted. Instead, you lean back a bit, give him space.

“I’ve had lots of practice,” you say and leave it at that, returning to your own side and lying down, arms folded behind your head. In the moonlight, you’re blushing. Several minutes go by in silence and you’ve started to notice the chill from outside. You’re about to ask Mando if he’d like to go inside when he says:

“I’ve never slept with anyone.” The silence that follows is deafening. You’ve assumed this, but having it confirmed is something else entirely. You struggle for words, any words, to respond to this confession until you realize with abrupt clarity that he doesn’t want that. He just wants to share. You decide you have something you wanted to tell him, too.

“I can’t have children,” you say, almost too soft for him to hear, “but I’ve always wanted them. I always thought I’d… be a good mother.” There’s silence on his end. Then –

“You are a good mother.” It takes about a minute to discern his meaning, but by then you’re blinking back tears.

The hatch opens an hour later. The Child’s asleep in his cot, hidden away while you continue your sewing.

“Mando?” you call, peeking around the corner of his cot. “Did you forget something?” He makes his way into your field of vision and you smirk at him, but something in his posture is… off. You realize why moments later.

“Who do we have here?” asks a male voice behind the Mandalorian. From behind his shoulder comes a bald man, dressed in weaponry. And then another man, with red skin and horns, a droid, and the nastiest-looking woman you’ve ever seen. You immediately seek out Mando. He’s looking at you but he refuses to meet your eyes.

“Oh, a little slave girl!” cries the woman with the purple skin, jumping in the air and clapping excitedly. “This will be fun!”

“What’s your name?” you ask him once between the breezes of the wind and the phases of the moon. You aren’t expecting an answer, and then -

“Din,” he says breathlessly and quick, as if he’s been waiting for you to ask, “It’s Din.”

“Din,” you say with reverence, caressing the side of his helmet. “I’m so glad to know you.”

You should have told him no. Demanded to be sent to Sorgan. That’s the only thought running through your head now, watching him interact with the ghosts of his past. You learn their names after an hour: Mayfield, Burg, Q9-0, but it’s the last one, Xi’an that gives you the most pause. You watch how she circles Mando, strokes her hand down his arm, flirts with him. You know your immediate reaction is jealousy but the more you watch them interact, the more protective you begin to feel. He’s like a livewire around these people, on edge. Mayfield reaches to grab your arm and Mando reacts instantly, catching his wrist with a quiet don’t. But when Xi’an gets close to him… he freezes.

But if you’re interested in Xi’an, she’s twice as fascinated by you. She watches you for hours while you move back and forth, keeping yourself busy. You and Mando shared a look when you’d picked up one of the child’s blankets off the floor, deciding through an unspoken dialogue not to allow these criminals to know of the Child’s existence. All the while she watches you, clicks her tongue. Sometimes she makes remarks that have the hair on the back of your neck standing up.

“What does he have you do for him, huh?” Xi’an asks coquettishly, brushing a lock of your hair behind your ear. “I have a few ideas… but I don’t think Mando shares my appetites. Do you, sweetie?” Mando’s at your side immediately, manhandling you behind him.

“Not even a little bit,” he replies. He steers you away from the rest of the group until you’re as far away as possible, leans close so you can have a semblance of a private conversation. “I’m sorry,” he says, and you know he means for everything.

“I know,” you respond, “this is bad.” You trail off, not wanting to guilt him anymore than you’re sure he already is. There’s something that’s been nagging at you, in the back of your mind. You lean in closer, grabbing ahold of his forearms to stabilize yourself. “Mando, is she… the one you told me about?” All he does is stare, for a bit, and then he nods. Just once. You squeeze his arm and try to stave off your desperate need to hug him. “Okay.”

“Have you ever been in love?”

This night, you’ve been out on the hatch for hours, stars long since forgotten, preferring to stare at each other instead. Mando may as well be a star to you, making you burn hot in your core just to look at him. Maker, you think, watching him watch you, will this fire ever stop burning?

“I – uh - no,” he says. “Once, I thought – but she wasn’t a good person.”

“Oh?” You ask, hoping he’ll tell you more. You like to learn about him.

“She was a criminal. She made me forget who I was. Hurt me. I don’t… like who I was when I was with her.” The words seem like an admission. You move the hand that isn’t propping your head up to intertwine your fingers with his. You pull his hand to that it rests over your sternum, stroke your fingertips down his forearm.

“I like who you are now,” you say, hoping this will ease his pain, if only a little bit. The tilt of his head lets you know he’s smiling.

“And you?” he asks, “Have you ever been in love?”

“Oh yes,” you reply, breathless, and whisper for you in your head so many times you hope he can hear you.

“She stays,” Mando says sharply. You’re sure he’s close to snapping, fingers digging into the meat of your arm. It’s starting to hurt.

“She comes,” says the Devaronian, arms crossed tight across his chest. “I don’t trust her here alone with Q9.”

“She stays,” Mando repeats, “she’d just be a liability. She doesn’t know how to fire a blaster.” Xi’an quirks the skin above her eye.

“I wonder more and more what the point of her is,” she says, messing with her blaster a bit. “C’mon Mando. Give her a blaster and lets go.”

“Just do what they ask,” you whisper to him, “I’ll stay out of the way. Let’s just get this done so we can get the hell out of here.” He nods once. Then you’re off.

The betrayal doesn’t come as a surprise to you. The murder does. You’ve watched Mando fight before, watched him shoot a bounty but you’ve never watched someone beg for their life before being killed in cold blood. You watched him fight with himself, trying to choose between safety and duty. You wish he’d been more selfish. Your body’s gone numb and you’re dissociating, mind foggy. Mando talks to you but you don’t hear him.

“Hey, hey,” he says, smacking your shoulders, “come back to me. Come back. We have to finish this, okay? I’m sorry, I’m so sorry – you never should have, should have been here. But we need to get out. Okay? Lets finish this.” You nod, following his voice back to your body. Its hard work but you manage, and when you look away you realize you’re locked in a cell.

“Okay, okay,” you say, repeating the word over and over until you feel mostly yourself. “Let’s do this.”

“Can you never marry? Settle down? Have a family?”

This is a dangerous game you’re playing, yet you can’t stop. Every star-filled night you’ve been building up to this question, needing to know the answer. There’s tension between the two of you that surpasses sexual. You know he cares for you. You have to know if there’s a possibility for more.

“My clan is… very strict. There aren’t many Mandalorians left. Our lives are to be devoted to the creed.” He doesn’t sound disingenuous, but he does seem… detached.

“Is that what you want from life?” you ask softly, watching him from the corner of your eye. “Life experienced from the inside of a helmet? Forever?”

He stares blankly back at you; no head tilt, no external indication of what his facial expressions might be telling you. You blanch.

“I didn’t mean to offend you,” you say quickly, grabbing for his knee, “I only meant… I mean… Are you happy?” He takes some time to respond, but when he does he takes your breath away.

“It’s the only life I’ve known,” he says, resting his hand atop yours, “but that doesn’t mean it’s the only one. I’m… happiest when I’m with you.”

Your eyes close involuntarily, lips curling into a smile.

Oh Maker, you pray, happy tears stinging your eyes, let me love him.

You awake to Mando shaking your shoulder and saying your name gently. You blink your eyes open to find most of the main lights of the ship turned off, the Child nowhere to be found.

“He’s in his cot,” says the Mandalorian to your unspoken question. “Come.” He stands and extends his hand, which you take without hesitation. He leads you to the hatch, open it, and leads you outside. He’s brought you to another barren planet to watch the stars, only this one is… different. You gasp audibly, bringing your hands to cover your mouth. You’re fully awake now, eyes wide open in an attempt to take everything in because.

Because wherever you are it the largest moon you’ve ever seen, enough surface area that, when the sun shines upon its surface, it gives off enough white light that everything on the surface of the planet is clearly visible. But the sky is still inky black, and millions of stars and planets can be seen from the ground. It’s a wonderous juxtaposition, one you didn’t know what possible. You turn to the Mandalorian in awe, hoping for an explanation.

“I tracked a bounty here once,” he says, shrugging his shoulders, “I thought you might like it.”

“I do,” you say, with enough feeling that you might choke on it.

This scene is so similar to the ones before it and yet there’s an air of something. You can’t quite name it, but there’s a change between the two of you. You can feel is in the way he stares at you, how you can practically feel the heat coming off his eyes. His gaze scans your entire figure, ankles to eyes. It makes you flush. You’re both lying on your backs looking at the stars, so mesmerized that you haven’t spoken a word in an hour. You break the silence because he has to know.

“I didn’t like the way she was looking at you,” you say, shifting so that you’re now on your knees. Mando watches you shift and then does the same, sitting up on his haunches.

“Xi’an,” he says. He doesn’t need to ask. You nod.

“I hate to see you look scared. Unsure.” Your hand snakes its way to his in the grass. Once you find it, he allows you to curl your fingers in his.

“I’m okay,” he says, and that’s that.

Except it’s not. He can’t brush this aside, you wont allow it, because there’s a tightening happening in your chest, like a fist around your heart and you know with sudden and shocking clarity that there will never be another. He is it. He has to know.

Slowly, so as not to startle him, you shift your right hand to unclasp your fingers. They dance across his hand, up his arm, over the slope of his shoulder, up his neck. He stiffens but doesn’t push you away, trusts you, and the truth makes your heart ache. You stop once your palm has circled his neck, finger tips able to get a little ways into his helmet. You feel stubble there, scratching your palm.

His breathing has picked up, the sound of it tinny through the modulator. After several moments of deep breaths he mimics your movements, right hand gliding up your body. His palm cups your cheek and he swipes his thumb over your lips in a gesture you’ve become familiar with. You stare at each other like this for what feels like hours, mimes of each other. Then he drops your gaze and looks at the grass, at your legs, anything but your face.

“There are things,” he begins, “that are normal for others. Expected. But not for me.” He’s staring now; waiting for your response, you imagine. You know what he wants you to say. To smile and nod and accept this answer. Leave everything unspoken, as you usually do. But not this time. You’ve been aching for months to put a name to your plight and now that you have one you must share it.

I understand, you think.

“I love you,” you say instead. He jerks so violently away from you that you’re afraid you’ve physically hurt him. He drops your jaw and your palm is remove from his face by the force in which he moves away.

“I… can’t,” his voice is breathless, desperate, scared. All at once you know that it’s him that’s holding him back, his trauma, not his devotion to his culture. He’s afraid to love you. It makes tears spring to your eyes. You catalog everything the Mandalorian has been through; the pain, the hardship. Broken and touch-starved. But he’s so soft and he loves the Child and no matter what he says you know that he loves you.

“I know,” you say, tipping your head forward so your forehead rests against his helmet, hands cupping the side of it like a promise. “I know.”

**Author's Note:**

> Part four is finally done. I'm not entirely sure why, but this was the most challenging part to write. I had SO much trouble with it and spent, like, 5 solid hours and only got 3.5k out of it, so.....................do with that information what you wish.  
> I'm also taking suggestions for what to title this Mando series! Leave me a comment or shoot me an ask on tumblr with your suggestions!
> 
> If you'd like to check out my tumblr, it's @diindjariin.  
> If you'd like, I'd appreciate it if you'd reblog the post for this fic on tumblr:  
> https://diindjariin.tumblr.com/post/190375686626/have-you-ever-been-in-love-din-djarin-x-reader#


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